


Of All the Gin Joints

by thedevilchicken



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Sexual Content, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16360559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: He was sure his contact was the Nautolan. It turned out it really wasn't.





	Of All the Gin Joints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fairleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/gifts).



He was sure his contact would turn out to be the owner, a bluff, gruff Nautolan who seemed roughly as likely to own a bar on a desert planet as Anakin did to move to Glee Anselm on a permanent basis. He might have declared himself allergic to sand at various points both before and after leaving Tatooine, but he could only imagine what kind of masochist who could breathe underwater chose to live in the arid air under binary suns instead. 

He was sure it would turn out to be the owner, but it wasn't. It was the singer, but he didn't know that until after. 

The singer in question called himself Curt Wild, at least so said the posters that were pasted up on walls all around the spaceport, with pictures on them that made Anakin give a comedic double take the first time he caught sight of them. He'd met people with names ten times more off-the-wall even before he'd gone with the Jedi so he couldn't be sure at all if he'd made it up for the stage or not. Honestly, looking at him, there wasn't a lot about him that seemed fake; he was a crappy singer but he really seemed to feel every word he sang. The fakest thing was his bleached blond hair, and even that seemed to fit. 

Of course, the problem was, he looked a whole lot like someone Anakin knew. The posters hadn't lied: he looked so much like Obi-Wan Kenobi that Anakin thought maybe it _was_ Obi-Wan somehow, though he'd left him back on Coruscant and really, it seemed sort of out of character. But he looked _so_ much like him that he gave his thoughts a mental prod just in case he was wrong. Ten seconds later, he was sure he wasn't Obi-Wan, but it seemed like having a Jedi poke around in in his head didn't go unnoticed, either. 

He broke off mid-song, though frankly Anakin wasn't sure how anyone was meant to know if that was planned or not considering the show, and he launched himself into the crowd gathered round the stage. He rode them over to him like a wave - a wave that mysteriously knew to deposit him right in front of Anakin - and he leaned in by his ear to whisper, "Find me after the show, yeah?" before he was away again. A dozen hands pushed him back up onto the stage so he could pick his microphone back up again.

His voice was also Obi-Wan's, but then again not Obi-Wan's, though Anakin was too busy wondering if what he'd just experienced was how Obi-Wan felt whenever he or Ahsoka (or, Force forbid, the two of them together) launched some totally ridiculous new plan. Curt Wild seemed pretty ridiculous, too, throwing himself around on the floor like maybe singing caused him physical pain or maybe some kind of weird ecstasy, or maybe both, but Anakin figured okay, sure, he had time before he was meant to meet the contact. The contact who he assumed was the Nautolan guy serving flashy cocktails like they were in a high-class bar on Coruscant and not a cantina with a stage in the back of beyond. The place made Tatooine look positively cosmopolitan. 

The show wasn't lengthy, for which Anakin was thankful. And once Curt Wild and the band had made their way off stage, the security guard on the door that led through to the backstage area didn't know what hit him once Anakin waved one hand in front of his face and said, "It's fine, you can let me through." 

"It's fine," the guy said, looking distantly confused. "I can let you through." Then he stood aside and let Anakin by. 

"Let me guess," Curt said when he walked in, as he stood there with his back turned at the dressing room mirror. He glanced back at Anakin over one bare shoulder. He was wearing pants, at least, though part of his show hadn't seemed to involve them, but it seemed he'd lost his shirt someplace between the stage and there. Anakin guessed at least even when he lost his lightsaber, it wasn't like he started to undress. Curt did start to undress, though, even more than he already was; he unbuckled his belt and he toed off his boots and Anakin looked at him oddly, like he made absolutely no sense. He wondered if that was how Obi-Wan looked at him, too. He figured that was probably true more often than it wasn't.

"What are you doing?" he asked. 

Curt raised his brows at him in the mirror. "I'm taking my clothes off," he replied. "It makes shit like this at least ten times easier." 

"Okay, I'm pretty sure I'm going to regret this," Anakin said, rubbing his eyes. "But what are you talking about here?"

Curt frowned at him. "Sex," he said. "You've just gotten backstage at a concert. You're in a singer's dressing room. This is pretty universal code for sex." 

And, total nonsense though that was, Anakin had to admit he was tempted. He'd spent half his life by then tempted by something, even if most of the time that something was definitely _not_ a guy from a bar in a desert who looked exactly like his old master had, before the beard and with a crappy dye job. He might have kind of sounded like him, too, if Obi-Wan had put on an accent. He was tempted because the Jedi code so often said one thing and did another but the one thing they all held tight to was the idea of No Attachment. But the fact was, Anakin had always wanted to get attached. Looking at Curt, who was still undressing himself drunkenly not even ten paces away across the room, he maybe even wanted to get attached to _him_. For one night, at least, or maybe an afternoon, considering the timing of what was a really weird matinee. 

He watched Curt strip there in front of the mirror, and it absolutely wasn't elegant the way he guessed Obi-Wan might've been, or might've tried to be. He almost tripped himself twice and Anakin wasn't sure if he'd've let him fall or caught him with the Force, or maybe even just reached out and grabbed him with both hands since he was pretty much right there in front of him, and in front of the open dressing room door. He even kind of looked like Obi-Wan underneath his clothes, too, all lean muscle and pale skin that didn't see nearly enough sun to tan and a cock that just went on and on. Sure, so he hadn't spent much time around his former master nude, but he did at least know how he looked without his Jedi robes on. 

Curt leaned down over the counter by the mirror, finally without his clothes. He was looking at him in the glass with those eerily familiar eyes like he was goading him, like he was daring him, and Anakin, of course, though he should've known better, really could not resist a dare. It wasn't his fault. He'd just never known how to back down from a challenge. 

"So, you do this often?" Anakin asked, as he stepped right up behind him. He ran his hands over Curt's narrow hips up to his waist as he rubbed his still clothed crotch against Curt's bare ass. He met his gaze in the mirror, his brows raised.

"Sure," Curt replied. He leaned down lower, till he was propped there on his forearms on the counter that was covered up with booze and spice and the broken neck from a guitar like that was just normal there somehow. He flipped his long hair out of his eyes. "I mean, who doesn't like sex, right?" He raised his brows. He arched his back beyond suggestively. "Apart from the Jedi. Right?"

Anakin snorted. He could feel his cock hardening underneath his robes and he was pretty sure Curt couldn't have missed that, either. 

"I guess some of us more than others," he said, as he reached up to give Curt's hair a playful tug. Curt snickered and shuffled his bare feet a little wider.

"So what, you're the _other_ kind of Jedi?" Curt said. 

"Yeah, I guess so," Anakin replied. He pulled off his belt and tossed it onto the table, where it knocked over his drink but Anakin figured his clothes had probably seen worse. He pulled his tunic open, shoved his pants down over his thighs, and watched as Curt wriggled his damn eyebrows at him in the mirror. Anakin snorted again, and let his cock rest heavily against the crack of Curt's ass.

There was lube on the table, which Anakin had to admit didn't seem totally out of place. So he used it; he uncapped it, squeezed it, and stepped aside as he slicked himself up so Curt could watch him do it in the mirror, avidly, his head resting on one hand on one elbow on the desk. 

"Y'know, you're pretty hot for a Jedi," Curt told him, conversationally, like he wasn't watching him coat his cock in lube so he could fuck him with it. He flipped his hair out of the way again. Then he raised one eyebrow and he braced himself.

"Y'know, you're pretty hot for cantina band lounge act," Anakin replied, and he thumbed the head of his cock down against Curt's hole with a thrill that tingled through him. When he pushed against him, when he pushed inside him, Curt groaned obscenely. Anakin's gloved metal hand twisted into Curt's hair. He met his gaze. Anakin groaned, too, and he bucked his hips, skin slapping skin.

Curt shoved back hard against him. "Hey, you wanna get a drink when we're done?" he asked. 

Anakin laughed breathlessly, breaking his own rhythm. "Yeah, how about we get this finished first?" he replied.

When they resurfaced into the club maybe twenty minutes later, the only one of them who looked more dishevelled than he had was Anakin, but he guessed it wasn't like Curt had been neat before. And by then Anakin was feeling a lot more positive about that sand-covered rock in the middle of nowhere than he had before, he really had to admit. Even places like that had their high points, he guessed, and not just the view from the cockpit as he left it behind. 

They ordered drinks, some kind of fancy cocktails the owner served them with a big, wide smile, like he knew exactly what they'd been doing back there. They sat down together in a quieter corner, though nowhere in the place was really quiet. Then Curt leaned over the table, up by Anakin's ear. 

"Y'know, it's not the Nautolan," he murmured. "He's only here 'cause the sun helps his psoriasis." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Anakin replied, playing with his glass, though he had a sinking feeling that he did. 

"Your contact," Curt said. He shuffled closer and nuzzled Anakin's ear distractingly. "I'm telling you it's not the Nautolan." 

"And I'm telling you I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"It's me." He nipped at Anakin's earlobe with his teeth. "You think the band _needs_ to play all the way out here in the middle of no-fucking-where?" 

Curt pulled back and grinned at him from ear to ear. Anakin groaned. He took a good, long gulp from his flashy cocktail.

He'd been sure his contact would turn out to be the owner, but instead it was the singer. The singer whose hand was snaking down between his thighs as he beamed at him like he was doing him a favor. 

He had a feeling they were going to be seeing a lot more of each other, given the job he'd been sent to do. He wasn't totally sure if that was good or bad, but it would sure be an experience.


End file.
